


It's Been a While

by S_Faith



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Canon, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-19
Packaged: 2019-11-25 18:04:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18169466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Faith/pseuds/S_Faith
Summary: The boys have a lot more in common than just Bridget.





	It's Been a While

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [One More Peaceful Day](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27602) by [voleuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse). 



> Inspired by [a certain photograph](https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/news-photo/renee-zellweger-colin-firth-and-hugh-grant-as-they-reprise-news-photo/563552739) and [](http://voleuse.livejournal.com/profile)[**voleuse**](http://voleuse.livejournal.com/)'s [One More Peaceful Day](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27602) (PG-13), written back in 2005 and left tantalizingly dangling, as it were. Although it had misfires here and there when it came to characterization, the questions it raised, the possible history it conjured, and the scenario to which it seemed destined to lead was far too tempting to pass up. Think of this as an _extreme_ alternate universe from book, movie or column.
> 
> tl;dr: [](http://voleuse.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://voleuse.livejournal.com/)**voleuse** 's Mark could do this. I don't think Helen's could. Also, threesome. Also, I'm really nervous about posting this.
> 
> Disclaimer: Original universe belongs to H. Fielding. Original story concept belongs to [](http://voleuse.livejournal.com/profile)[**voleuse**](http://voleuse.livejournal.com/) / [](http://moodfic.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://moodfic.livejournal.com/)**moodfic**. These words belong to me.

Out of her mind. She is out of her mind for a number of reasons: first of all, agreeing to have Daniel over to dinner; secondly, for not telling Mark; and then doing all of this without knowing the full extent of the history between them. Which Daniel so titillatingly promised to give her seconds after Mark promised the same.

She thinks about nothing else the remainder of the day. She picks up the barest scrapings of dinner ingredients. She gets home a lot later than she plans. She realises very quickly that she's not the first to arrive.

Mark's shoes are by the door, as is his jacket. And his tie. She, however, does not see _him_. She furrows her brows. "Mark?" she calls, not loud enough to carry very far, but it's not a big flat.

She hears a noise in the back, and drops her carrier bag in the kitchen on the way to investigate. The loo. She's practically tip toeing. What she finds makes her feel a little dizzy and overwhelmed, and like an auto pileup on the M4 she's unable to look away.

The hands on Mark's hips are grasping so tightly the knuckles are white. Those knuckles, those hands, are connected to Daniel's tensed arms as he leans against Mark and drives him against the bathroom sink. Neither notice she's there as they kiss, bite, suck at one another's mouth, lips, tongue. She knows what it's like to be on the receiving end of both of their kisses, and watching the desperate, voracious snogging is mesmerizingly sexy; so mesmerising, so sexy, in fact, that she forgets she's supposed to be indignantly howling-with-rage furious that her boyfriend is kissing her ex-boyfriend.

Something happens; something changes. Mark tenses up, pushes Daniel away, opens his eyes and looks straight into hers. She wonders if she looks as lost as she feels; not so much lost as shell-shocked. He looks apologetic. Guilty. Daniel… well, he just looks like Daniel. Smug.

"So you did used to shag," she says in a ghost of her normal voice, then adds shakily, " _Please_ tell me it's still 'used to'."

"The whole ex-wife thing gets a bit more complicated, doesn't it?" cuts in Daniel, stepping back, stuffing his hands into his jean pockets to mid-palm with a rakish grin. Mark doesn't turn away from her, but he folds his hands in front of him. She's never seen a more obvious attempt to mask arousal in her life.

"Tell me what's going on," she says, ignoring Daniel, looking at Mark. She wills tears back.

"Bridget." Mark speaks at last. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry… I found out? Sorry I came home? Sorry you're splitting up with me?"

He runs his hand over his face. "I'm sorry for hurting you. I know this hurts, and you have every right to be angry with me." He sighed. "I _don't_ want to split up with you. This… we had some wine waiting for you and things… just got carried away."

"And at the party?" she asked. "What was that? And you were so evasive with my questions."

"You called me at _work_ ," Mark says, turning from contrite to a mite defensive in a heartbeat. "What was I supposed to do?"

"You weren't at work when I found the photo," she returns.

"I didn't know what to say."

"'We were shagging' would have sufficed."

"Would that have made you feel better?" he asks, his tone rising.

She doesn't say anything.

"As for the party—" Mark continues, but falters, stops.

" _Totally_ my fault, Jones." Daniel. "He can be very suggestible when he's had a few. I'm sure you've noticed."

"Did you," she asks with emphasis, "or did you not shag?"

The two men exchange glances; Daniel answers. "While at Cambridge? Yes."

She sallies forth. "Were you… boyfriends?"

"No. It was physical. We had this attraction, so we decided… why not just shag? You know me, Bridge. Anything that moves." Daniel winks. It does nothing to reassure her. "And Mark just wanted… well, not to put too fine a point on it, release without attachment. Win-win."

She wonders why Daniel's doing all of the talking, but she suspects she already knows. She closes her eyes, preparing to ask about the more difficult of the two scenarios. "And… recently?"

"No." They answer in unison.

She feels a little relief, still curious about the real story behind the ex-wife, but there are other pressing matters, like the matter pressing up against Mark's fly. "Mark," she asks, wanting to know but not _really_ wanting to know; "would you rather be with a man? I mean, am I—?" She can't ask the rest of the question.

"No, you are not just some… _beard_ ," he answers after fumbling for the right word. It surprises her that he knows it. "I love you."

To stop herself from bursting into tears, she snorts derisively. "You have a funny way of showing it."

Mark strides forward and before she can evade him or push him off he's got her in his arms, forcefully covering her mouth and kissing her. Her nose is filled with a disturbing mixture of his scent and Daniel's. She can't help succumbing to him; her knees go weak, his hands press into her back, roaming down and over her rear, pulling her insistently into the hardness between his legs. She moans a little into his mouth. He couldn't be faking _that_. Couldn't be. But she suddenly remembers the hardness was there to begin with.

She stiffens when she feels a second pair of hands come around and ten additional fingers squeezing into her arse. She jerks her head back. Daniel's behind Mark with his arms outstretched and touching her, grinding his hips forward, his lips open mouthed and sucking on the back of Mark's neck, over which she feels suddenly very protective.

Mark's eyes are still closed; his head tilts back, his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows then gasps for air. She feels a stirring low in her belly to see him losing himself to pleasure, even if it was Daniel's doing. The latter has not ceased the kissing or grinding. Anything that moves, indeed. 

"Daniel, you weren't asked to join in."

"Wasn't I?" he said. "I don't see Darcy here spinning 'round and slugging me." Both pairs of hands tighten on her arse. "I see this as win-win-win."

"Me and Mark… and _you_?" she asks incredulously. No reply. She demands, "Mark, say something."

Mark bends and brings his lips close to her ear. "I love you and want you," he says, "but I…." He doesn't say the rest. He doesn't have to. His eyes say everything.

She never thought the words 'Mark Darcy' and 'threesome' would ever be caught dead in the same sentence together, let alone the same _room_. She suddenly feels like she doesn't know him at all. "Why?" she asks in a strangled tone.

"We've patched up our differences," says Mark. 

"Indeed. _She_ ," said Daniel, referring evidently to Mark's ex, "was a huge mistake all around."

Mark nods, then says plaintively, "This feels like… closure."

"It _feels_ like make-up sex!" she exclaims.

"That would imply we'd be a _couple_ ," cut in Daniel with a scoff. " _That_ sure as hell isn't happening."

Cupping her face in his hand, Mark says, meeting her gaze, "Trust me." His eyes, his words, his tone, are darker and more intense than she'd ever seen or heard them. "You do trust me, don't you?"

She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Maybe she _doesn't_ know him, but maybe it's because there are parts of him he's been afraid to reveal to her.

She pulls her lower lip between her teeth, then decides with resolve: _He wants this, and I want him to be happy. I want him not to be afraid to tell me anything or ask anything of me._

Then she nods.

"I love you," Mark murmurs, leaning forward.

Just before he tries to kiss her again, she says, " _He_ doesn't get to shag me."

Mark only agrees with a low sound of assent.

Daniel says, "As you wish."

"And full protection," she says, her eyes raising to Daniel, who also looks dark and serious.

"Scout's honour." His blue eyes are shining.

She does trust Mark; she does love him; and he would never let Daniel go back on his word. She sees this in his eyes as she looks into them. Why shouldn't he be the adventurous one for a change? Why shouldn't she follow his lead?

Mark begins to unbutton her shirt, kisses her lightly on the lips before placing his mouth on her neck, teeth raking almost painfully on the skin there. She makes a tortured sound deep in her throat. Once he has her shirt open, Mark puts his hands on her breasts, working his hands in circles, caressing her as he always does (although slightly more roughly) as he grinds his hips into hers. It occurs to her that there are still hands on her arse. "Wait, wait," she gasps, pushing back so that Daniel's hands fall away. Mark takes his hands from her chest.

"What?" His voice is very husky as he brings his fingers down to open her trousers, the button, then the zip. He ducks his head down and kisses her again, then growls throatily, one hand splaying across her lower back, "Do you not want this?"

As he says 'this', he thrusts his hand down into her pants and between her legs, his thumb driving into the front of her, his fingers curling and slipping up into her. She moans, her head lolling back, her knees wanting to fold beneath her.

Her eyes open to see Daniel's slender hands—she flashes for a moment to the pleasure those hands had brought her what felt an age ago, a not unpleasant remembrance—have reached around Mark's waist to undo his belt and trousers. Mark continues to tease her with his fingers as Daniel pushes Mark's trousers down, followed by the boxers. _Jesus_ , she thinks, glancing down. _He's as ready as I've ever seen him._

"We're not really going to…" she said, drifting off as she sees Daniel boldly take Mark in hand and start working him; Mark breaks his cadence for just a moment. Surprisingly she finds it arousing. "In here," she finishes weakly at last; they really can't mean to have a group shag in her loo.

She hears Daniel's throaty laughter. He seems to have taken her meaning. "Meet you in your bedroom," he says, looking directly into her eyes as he steps back. "I know the way."

He disappears, leaving Mark with her. They say nothing, do nothing, for about five seconds, then they both begin to attack the buttons on his shirt, she from the bottom, he from the top, then push it off his shoulders, help him step out of his trousers. He strips off her top, takes off her bra, and renders her bottom half bare.

"Bridget," he says for lack of anything better, then takes her hips in hand and brings her quickly against to him, groaning when his firmness presses between them. "Fuck," he mutters.

"Me," she finishes, running her fingers on him. She almost wants to make him come right here in the loo, selfishly take all the fun out of it for Daniel, but before she can, he lifts her up. Her legs encircle his waist out of sheer reflex and he walks her to the bed, settling her on the edge.

In the dim room, she can see Daniel's stripped off too, and she would have been lying if she said the sight of him naked and erect didn't do something to turn her primal and somewhat nostalgic innards to slightly quivering jelly. He had already slipped on a johnny, and his fingers linger on a cylinder standing on the bedside table. She doesn't have much time to focus on what it is because Mark, who's positioned between her knees, has abruptly thrust his fingers between her legs again, in her wetness; she throws her head back again and moans, falling back against the mattress. She waits for the thrust forward, for him to enter, but that doesn't happen although he hasn't stopped with his hands. Her eyes open and she realises it's because Daniel's got his hands on Mark's shoulders, then hips; one comes around to take Mark in hand again.

"Jones," purrs Daniel, his lids lazily lifting as he strokes, "my favourite angle from which to see you."

"Shut up," she says with rather less force than she intends, because Mark's now working his fingers, two then three, in and out of her and her head's pretty much spinning. Through her fluttering lids she hears Mark making those tell-tale little sounds of arousal, deep in his throat, unintelligible pre-verbalisations, and they're driving her wild. But everything stops jarringly; then Mark's hands take her under her thighs, lifting her knees, and he's bending over her, and as he groans loudly—

"Oh," she cries as he drives forward into her. It's with much more force than usual, and from beneath her heavy lids she can see that Daniel's got his hips up against Mark, who's moaning every time Daniel jerks forward. 

They're fucking. Daniel's fucking Mark as Mark's fucking her. _Holy Christ_ , she thinks. _This is—_

_Fuck._

Mark's resting on his forearms, thrusting forward again and again, and she arcs up to meet him, her nails undoubtedly raking red lines across his back. She notices as they move together (with as much rational thought as she can manage) that the rhythm is changing. Daniel's fingers are tense on Mark's hips, and Daniel's going forward as Mark's going back. She's falling under, though, and can't keep her eyes open, can't keep quiet. She begs him to go harder; it hardly matters to her which of them heeds her. The result's the same.

That moment arrives—she always knows it—where she feels Mark climax, and it's more forceful and more vigorous than anything she's felt from him. With pinpoint precision, Mark's fingertips find the knot of nerves between her legs, and the lightest touch sends her off, causing her to buck as much as she can from beneath him, shimmering with her release.

Daniel makes an uncharacteristically guttural sound and it's clear from his posture, muscles taut as a whip, that he's about to come, and then he does; she swears she can feel him shudder as it happens. His lengthy groan—she knows that all too well, too—turns into, "Oh, fuck _me,_ that was good." He's still moving back and forth, going slower and slower, almost torturously so, considering that Mark can't apparently manage to hold himself up any longer. He collapses onto her, finding her mouth again and kissing her passionately.

"Love you," he murmurs as he takes her mouth again and again. She feels the bed sink beside her.

"Just once for old times' sake?" Daniel asks. 

"You've already had that," Bridget gasps even though she knows he now means her, turning her eyes to look at Daniel before her lids flicker between down and up under Mark's continued ministrations to her throat.

"Pretty fucking hot, Darce, you and Jones," he says impishly. He can't hide that his own voice is trembling nor that his hand is still moving; she wonders what he's doing, but whatever it is it's causing Mark to breathe erratically. "Must be you," Daniel adds, directed to her, his voice sultry. "Never saw him this enthusiastic before."

She swears Mark's going to shag her again, but instead he draws away. He has a dangerous fire in his eyes as he sinks to his knees.

"I owe you a thank you," he says in a very deep voice before running his fingers along the skin of her inner thigh. He lifts her legs over his shoulders then leans forward; immediately she feels his slick and probing tongue sliding over her, into her and out of her with fervour, the sort of fervour that no one could fake. His hands cup her arse, pulling her into him. She moans involuntarily as his tongue teases then his teeth graze over that bud, the resulting intense pleasure-pain causing her to tense her thighs. This only seems to draw even more of that enthusiasm out of him.

Between her own cries, she hears Mark making deep, throaty sounds, the low tone vibrating along her skin and further heightening (as well as hastening) her arousal. She digs into the sheets with her fingers, grasping, arching up reflexively into him. Mark's sounds get louder and more desperate, and blearily she wonders exactly what's going on. She lifts her head, heavier than it's ever been, and realises that Daniel's not on the bed. Simultaneously she feels a hand on one calf, nails skimming over her skin, and she can tell Mark's thrusting his hips forward as he works at her voraciously. She can only imagine what Daniel's doing, possibly with his other hand, probably with his mouth, and as the image of Daniel doing those delicious things to Mark that he used to do to her takes form in her mind, she bends and snaps like a rubber band then cries out as she comes. Mark grips his fingers into her arse, makes a loud, undignified grunt, then flexes as he thrusts forward before relaxing and resting his cheek on her inner thigh, closing his eyes.

"God," exhales Mark, making that simple word stretch on for seconds.

" _He_ had nothing to do with that." Daniel's voice, again quavering. "You always hated to admit how much you used to love that."

Mark clears the frog in his dry throat and somehow finds the strength to push himself up onto the bed beside her, where he places his hand on her stomach, drawing it up to her breast, then leans forward to kiss her. She opens her eyes. He looks really sleepy. From over Mark's shoulder Daniel rises like… _Well_ , she can only think, _like a bad moon_. His hand covers Mark's shoulder, passes over the freckle she is often fond of nibbling on. He smiles languidly, looking from her to Mark to her again.

"Anyone fancy a pizza?" he asks, like the most normal thing in the world to have a group shag like they'd done, like they did it all the time. Her stomach does a weird flp at the sudden thought that maybe they would start to do it all the time.

Mark rests his head next to hers, closes his eyes and makes a sound that approaches an affirmative. 

"Already know your answer," Daniel says to her with a sly wink. "I'll call. Be right back." He strides over to his trousers, gets his mobile, then bold as brass he strides out naked as a jaybird to the main part of the flat. She turns from watching him leave—always did have a nice arse, she thinks traitorously—before turning back to her boyfriend. He's closed his eyes. She swears he's softly snoring.

"Mark?" she asks, trying to be gentle. When she gets no response, she says it again, more forcefully.

"Hmm?" he asks, not opening his eyes.

"It's not going to be an on-going thing, is it?"

He cracks open an eye, lifts his arm up to invite her to snuggle.

"You're not answering again," she accuses, but spoons up to him all the same. He then pulls the duvet over them. Instantly she feels the pull of slumber.

She's not sure if she dreams his answer or if he really says it: "What if it were?"

………

She wakes when she hears movement in the room. She knows Mark's behind her because she can feel his legs against hers, sees (and recognises) his hand cupping her breast.

Dressed in a robe, Daniel has entered with the pizza, some tea towels, an open bottle of white wine and the stems of three glasses precariously threaded between his fingers. "Oh good, you're up," he says, setting the box on the bed and lifting the lid. The scent of fresh-baked pizza dough and tomato sauce makes her stomach growl a little. Mark chuckles then tenderly pats her abdomen before pushing himself to sit upright. Daniel hands him a glass, hands one to her as well, then sets the third down before filling them each to the brim.

Daniel strips out of the robe, takes a seat on the bed, reaches into the box and plucks out a slice. She averts her eyes and, holding the sheet to her chest, she reaches and takes one too.

"Come now, Jones," Daniel says. "No need for modesty. We're all friends here."

She looks up and meets his eyes. After what had occurred, he has a point. She smirks a little; this has been the weirdest night of her life.

"Besides," he adds, unable to resist a smart-arse remark, "there isn't anything there I haven't seen before. Touched, even. Possibly even licked."

She purses her lips, but she's amused. She would expect no less from Daniel, and Mark's chuckling again as he stretches for his own slice. They eat their slices in relative silence—mini-shag-marathons have a way of draining a body of energy—and when they finish the remains of the first bottle, Daniel goes for a second and tops them up. They leisurely drink as they sit there on the bed, then set the glasses aside.

"Sauce on your chin," says Daniel to Mark. Mark swipes at his face with one of the tea towels, but his aim is off. Daniel laughs, then reaches across to clean him up with the edge of his thumb. His smile fades. The two of them are looking at one another with expressions she full well recognises, but she says nothing, not even when Daniel puts his thumb to Mark's mouth and Mark sucks the tomato sauce off. Perhaps it's the wine talking a bit, but she's curious to see what will happen next, to see if she finds it as titillating as she had before.

She watches as they lean in towards one another, heads tipping instinctively each to their respective lefts as their lips meet. It's a small kiss that turns into a slow kiss, a deep kiss, a hot kiss. She knows logically she should be jealous, but instead only feels a fire growing below, watching her ex- and current love engaged in this way. Daniel leans back; Mark leans forward until he's got Daniel almost pinned beneath him. She's not sure what the etiquette is; she both does and doesn't want to watch. She feels a bit frozen in place. As if sensing her thoughts, Mark's eyes open and look, heavy-lidded, to her. Daniel's hand reaches down and touches Mark's burgeoning firmness, runs his fingers down it. Mark gasps, saying, "Darling."

She doubts Mark has ever called Daniel 'darling' in his life. He must mean her. "Yes, Mark?" she asks quietly.

"Come closer," Mark commands, fixing her gaze with his unblinking one.

She moves the box of pizza from the bed then gets closer to him. He reaches to tangle the fingers of his free hand into her hair, then kisses her. She can feel him twitch beneath Daniel's continued strokes. "Oh God," Mark says, breaking away.

After a moment's thought, without a word, she pulls back and reaches into the nightstand. Daniel had obviously had no trouble locating the box of condoms buried beneath everything in the drawer (she hasn't needed to use them with Mark for months), and now she pulls one out for him, tears open the packet. She sees the look of confusion on his face when she turns to him, but it disappears when he spots what's in her hand. As he accepts it and moves slightly to the side to employ it, she reaches for then hands Daniel the cylinder of lube, which, come to think, she hadn't used since she'd been with Daniel.

Mark leans to kiss her, combing his fingers into her hair, invading her mouth with his tongue as the writhing resumes. She succumbs to the kiss, her lids falling as Daniel's knee lifts. She feels them shifting around, hears Daniel mutters obscenities as an obvious connection is made and Mark shakes the bedframe with his thrusts forward. Still kissing her, she leans further to skim her nails on Mark's back and over the nape of his neck. He shivers. She moans when she feels a tongue then mouth on her breast, teeth grazing her nipple, despite knowing it can't possibly be Mark. She's in the moment, though, and it feels so good she doesn't even care; Daniel certainly hasn't forgotten his way around her breast. Her sounds of pleasure seem to drive Mark on. There's a hand on her thigh and she suddenly wants to be touched. She mutters, "Do it," so he does. Daniel obviously hasn't forgotten his way around that part of her body, either.

As her cries escalate, Mark's does too. It doesn't surprise her that he comes as quickly as he does. With one last thrust on Mark's part, Daniel arches up and groans. 

Mark backs off and subsides to the mattress, heaving for air. Unsurprisingly, Daniel isn't giving up on the idea of making her come, and with her eyes starting to roll back into her head, she doesn't see she has the willpower to want to stop him.

"No shagging," she says feebly. "You don't get to."

"No trespassing where I'm not wanted, I _swear_ ," Daniel purrs as he presses his fingers hard up into that nub of nerves. She cries out.

"Mark," she says, in very grave danger of losing her head.

"Right here, darling," he replies from beside her. He guides her to lie back and into his arms, drawing her chin up to bring her lips to his. "You're all right," he murmurs.

She'd loved Daniel once, and he didn't seem to want to win her back; she certainly didn't love Daniel now in that way and had no interest in splitting from Mark; and Mark did not seem to be bothered by it at all, and in fact was entirely complicit in (and encouraging) what was now occurring. She trusts him, and she trusts Daniel will not step out of line, for fear of Mark's reprisal. She agrees with Mark by way of kissing him again.

Mark turns so that he's leaning over her; his hand raises up and strokes her face, her throat, her collarbones with a light touch that is in complete counterpoint to the steady and firm pressure Daniel's applying between her legs. He's behaving, abiding by the guidelines she laid down, though once or twice he comes dangerously close with the barest edge of his finger, causing her to practically curl around his hand. She feels Mark's fingers brush over her breast, cup it, roll the hardened nipple under his thumb just as she feels Daniel's very skilled lips placing open-mouthed kisses on her hipbone, along the crease of her leg and to her belly, just over the thatch of hair. For a moment she wonders if he might let his tongue take over for his fingers—she honestly can't decide if she wants him to or not—when he moves away to her navel, dipping his tongue in, then waist.

The dually delivered intense sensations are more than she can bear, never mind the fact that they're being plied upon her by two men whom each knew her as intimately as they knew each other, and with a great cry she finds her release; Daniel's maddeningly gentle encouragement, Mark's attention with his teeth to her breast, makes her climax in spades with quite vocal effect.

Seconds, minutes, hours later, it seems, Mark's voice is close to her ear just as he kisses her cheek: "Bridget." She turns her head to see that he's looking to her with a sleepy fondness. She smiles, then laughs a little, raising her hand to caress his cheek. _Definitely_ the weirdest night of her life.

"Have to go." Daniel's voice sounds out now.

"Yes, that's best," says Mark softly, not looking away.

She has no idea what's going on.

Daniel stands to slip into his clothes which he had, in a very Mark-like manner, previously folded and set on her bureau. "Darce? Lunch next week?"

"Court all week, can't," he says. "Maybe dinner." She wonders what hidden meaning this might have. Dinner and more shagging? Was she invited? Did she want to be?

"Mm, sure," he says. Daniel looks to her with an equally Mark-like intensity, and she feels suddenly very vulnerable. "Pleasure as always, Jones. Indeed, more than I'd gotten used to." He reaches into the pizza box, takes one last slice, then leaves.

She waits until the flat door slams closed before she turns to Mark, who is now, even as she's about to speak, dozing again.

"What just happened?"

"Hm?"

"What. Just. Happened?" she asks again, enunciating, speaking each word slowly.

"Daniel left."

"I mean… what did I just witness? It was eerie. Like throwing a switch. Shagging, then 'pip, pip, cheerio, must be on our way'."

He opens his eyes, fixes that chestnut gaze on her. "It was never anything more than physical," he said. "We're done."

"Forever?"

He chuckles. "For now, anyway." He reaches to brush a lock of hair from her face, looking pensive. "Maybe forever. I don't know."

"You don't know?" she squeaks.

"Darling, remember that we hadn't since Cambridge. We might not again. Mending fences with Daniel rekindled more than just friendship. It stirred up some of the old familiar wants, but… that's all it is. It's not on-going. And it's nothing compared to you and me."

She has never known Mark Darcy to lie, and doesn't think he'd start now. She nods, then kisses him, but he's already drifting to sleep again. She rests her head and looks at him, wondering how many more layers she has yet to discover in this man.

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself," he adds. It's the last thing she hears before she nods off.

………

Sharon's mouth drops open when Bridget describes with as little detail as she can manage about what'd happened the previous night. "You are taking the piss," her friend says. Bridget shakes her head. Sharon's obviously too shocked to say more.

"How was it?"

Bridget looks to Jude. She can't say she didn't like it, but she's not sure she'd want to make it a regular feature. "Different."

"Mmmm." Tom crooks a brow, a salacious grin on his face. "A Mark Darcy-Daniel Cleaver sandwich, and _you_ in the middle of it all. I shall fantasise about this for _weeks_ to come."

She groans at his little play on words.

"You have two options, love," says Tom, lighting a fag. "One, tell Mark I'm available if the old wants return." She reaches over the table and smacks him playfully. "The other… well, much easier and doesn't involve a third point to your bizarre little love triangle."

"What?"

He grins. "We'll go shopping after lunch."

When she sees where he wants to take her, she smacks him repeatedly, but deep down reserves the idea for future reference.

………

Three months later, Mark says he wants to invite a certain someone over for dinner at her flat again and hints at more than just a pizza or a curry takeaway. She'd rather not, because she has something to give him. She just needs to go back to buy it: black, silicone, of adequate length and girth, and able to be fastened to her person for a hands-free option.

When Mark opens the box, he pretends to be shocked, but she sees that quirk of a smile on the corner of his lips.

_The end._


End file.
